This is but a lower love; still it hath its honour;
What God hath made and meant to charm, let not man despise.
Nevertheless, as reason's child, look thou wisely farther,
For age, disease, and care, and sin, shall tarnish all the surface:
Reach a loftier love: be lured by the comeliness of mind,—
Gentle, kind, and calm, or lustrous in the livery of knowledge.
And more, there is a higher grade; force the mind to its perfection—
Win those golden trophies of consummate love:
Add unto riches of the reason, and a beauty moulded to thy liking,
The precious things of nobler grace that well adorn a soul;